


You Taste Like Glitter

by dizzzylu



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-08
Updated: 2012-10-08
Packaged: 2017-11-15 22:38:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/532552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzzylu/pseuds/dizzzylu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was a time in Danny's life when he'd have sworn he had better things to do than sit in a club and check out the latest guy his ex is trying to hook up with. That is not the case tonight.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>(written for the prompt: Danny sees Stiles at a gay bar and asks him to dance to make his ex jealous, only things get a little out of hand when he realizes Stiles is really into it and is not so straight as Danny thoughtat the <a href="http://transfixeddream.livejournal.com/135141.html">Everybody Loves Danny Fanworks Fest</a>)</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	You Taste Like Glitter

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this wasn't really written _for_ that prompt as much as the idea had been stuck in my head for a few days and then I found the prompt and was like, "Well, now I HAVE to write it!" I'm fairly certain marguerite_26 was hoping for something more porny, though. I'm sorry to disappoint :(
> 
> Thanks to kriari for her endless encouragement and wicked beta skills. I made a few changes after she looked at it (as usual), so any remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
> Edit: It occurred to me this morning that I should've warned for Stiles talking about having a panic attack. In my mind, it is sort of the prelude to a panic attack, one that Stiles gets under control before it can blow up, which is probably why I didn't even think to warn for it in the first place. I'm sorry if carelessness triggered anybody.

There was a time in Danny's life when he'd have sworn he had better things to do than sit in a club and check out the latest guy his ex is trying to hook up with. That is not the case tonight, apparently. And though the bartender is cool and he's been flirted with a few times, Danny still isn't sure why he even comes here anymore, considering he left paralyzed the last time, with Scott acting weird and Stiles fluttering around his gurney, all dark sad eyes and wringing hands.

If this is a place Scott McCall and Stiles Stilinski are going to start hanging out, Danny thinks to himself, it's probably time to find himself a new club.

A glance at his watch tells him it's too early to go home, but there really isn't anybody who looks remotely interesting. The bartender brings him a fifth rum and coke, minus the rum (Danny's bored, not stupid), and as Danny takes a sip, he notices his ex's gaze darting back and and forth between the guy he's grinding against and the crowd of drag queens hovering around two of the tables just off the bar. 

Danny watches the show for a while, curious because the last thing his ex would ever be into is drag queens. No, Alex's type leans more toward short, blonde, and twinky (Danny seems to be the anomaly. A fact he tries not to analyze too often.) rather than tall, cotton candy pink, and flamboyant. But right now, Alex seems more into Candy Snatch than the guy right in front of him. It'd be amusing if it weren't so _odd_. But then Donna Matrix takes a wide step to her left to whisper something in Ginger Snap's ear and that's when Danny sees Stiles, basking in their undivided attention. 

Danny understands their attraction in a detached sort of way. Stiles looks like a lost lamb in the middle of the strobe lights and fake fog, all bright wide eyes and open smile, an innocence to his eagerness that doesn't belong in a place like this. The drag queens fan around him almost like a pride of lionesses, sleek and calm until someone tries to slip in and steal Stiles away. That Stiles seems good with the status quo doesn't surprise Danny. Though the slitted eyes Ginger keeps trained on Alex makes Danny snicker into his drink.

As Danny sits there, watching, a tiny voice whispers to him to go over, to talk to Stiles. The drag queens like Danny (to be honest, and only a little arrogant, there are very few people who _don't_ like Danny. Alex is the odd man out there.) and Stiles would probably appreciate a friendly face, one his own age. That it could make Alex jealous is only a pleasant bonus.

Danny waves the bartender over for another drink, gestures at Stiles and asks for whatever he's drinking, too. While Danny waits, he studies Stiles, who looks different in a way Danny can't put his finger on until he's closer, exchanging air kisses with the ladies and a nod for Stiles.

Stiles looks good, looks like he's made an effort. Unlike the last time he was here, wearing the clothes he'd probably gone to school in, tonight Stiles is in skinny jeans and a polo shirt that looks a size too small, the top two buttons undone, revealing the gleaming hollow of his throat. It isn't typical club dress, but it works for Stiles, emphasizes his shoulders and biceps, his lean waist. 

"Danny! Dude!" Stiles nearly topples off his barstool to get close, giving Danny an enthusiastic bro-hug that almost knocks his drink from Danny's hand. There's a whiff of rum on his breath as he pulls away, and Danny grins, shoots a knowing wink at Candy.

"Making friends in low places, Stiles?" Danny says, nudging Donna with his elbow. She swats him on the shoulder then drags him in for a quick squeeze, excusing herself to get a drink at the bar.

"Oh, you know how it is," Stiles says, gesturing at himself with his hand. Danny presses the drink into his other hand and clinks their glasses together. "Nobody can resist the hotness that is me." 

Danny nods around a swallow, taking in the whole picture again, now that he's closer and Stiles' has basically given him an invitation to look all he wants. The polo is a deep red, striking against Stiles' fair skin, and stretches tight over his shoulders and chest. The sleeves cling to his biceps, too, the muscles slim and lean. Even though it looks small, it hangs loose around Stiles' stomach; short too, barely long enough to meet the waistband of his jeans. When Stiles reaches up to scrub a hand through his hair, the shirt rides up, too, exposing a pale strip of stomach. The skin looks soft and warm, and Danny has to shake away the urge to drag his fingers over it.

This isn't exactly a new thing for Danny, thinking about Stiles as more than just the annoying kid in his chem class. The one who can't keep his mouth shut for more than point-five seconds (like now. Stiles is yammering on about something, but Danny has no idea what. His nodding and occasional smiles seem to be getting him through the conversation well enough.). Stiles' mouth is a work of art, after all, and Danny would have to be deaf, dumb, and blind not to notice. But Stiles never seemed interested. And, of course, Danny had started dating Alex and, later, crushing on Matt.

The thought of Matt jerks Danny out of his Stiles-appreciation with a sound like a record scratch, and he blurts out without thinking, "Want to dance?" 

Stiles' mouth freezes mid-sentence, lips wet and parted, making Danny lick his own, his gaze skittering over Stiles' shoulder to see if Alex is still there. 

He is and he's alone, scowling. 

"You know I'm kind of uncoordinated, right?" Stiles asks.

"Really not caring."

Stiles studies Danny carefully, looking for a catch. Danny lets him, sitting patiently with a small smile on his face. He has to force himself not to dart a look over at Alex and tells himself he's not using Stiles. He's _not_.

When Stiles waits a beat too long, Danny grabs him by the wrist and pulls, feeling the tendons shift under his grip, and leads Stiles over to the dance floor, positioning them among the fringes of the crowd; not quite at the edge where Danny will be tempted to steal glances at Alex, but not in the middle either, where Stiles can cause the maximum amount of damage in a minimal amount of time. 

As advertised, Stiles is all awkward limbs and limitless enthusiasm, rocking back and forth in a rhythm that's a little faster than the heavy bass thumping from the speakers. It's like watching a flamingo try to line dance, painful yet mesmerising, but Danny takes pity on the people around them and begins to apply a judicious amount of damage control.

"First thing's first," he says, grabbing for Stiles' wrists. Stiles isn't paying attention yet, and his skin is slick with sweat, easily escaping Danny's hands until he happens to look up and find Danny much closer than before.

"Oh, sorry," Stiles says, and the downward tilt of his mouth makes Danny's chest thump hard. 

"It's okay, dude, just--" he spends a minute manhandling Stiles until they fit together properly, one of Danny's legs slotted between Stiles', their chests bumping together occasionally. He keeps hold of one of Stiles' wrists, but lets the other move how it wants, a decent compromise to Stiles' ingrained need to flail.

"There," Danny says once he's satisfied, and Stiles smiles up at him, bright and happy. He even manages to find a decent rhythm with his hips, and before Danny knows it, he's actually having fun. Dancing with Stiles Stilinski. Who knew?

Once he's in a comfortable groove, Stiles mouth starts to run. Thanks to the music, Danny only catches about every third word, but Stiles doesn't seem to be paying attention anyway, so Danny uses the time to catalogue this new Stiles and how he fits in his body. 

If Danny's honest, it started after the State game, which makes sense. Being the hero seems to have given Stiles a confidence boost that is clearly working for him. The new clothes are a different matter, though. Not something Stiles would ever think to do for himself. Danny tries to think back to seeing Stiles in school, if he's still in his layers or not, but soon realizes that he never really pays attention to Stiles at school unless he has to. Which is pretty typical of how everybody handles the Stiles, Danny figures, with a small pang of guilt.

Pressed close together like this, Danny can smell Stiles' sweat, feel the soft brush of Stiles' hair against his cheek. It's longer, Danny realizes with a start. Not long enough to get a healthy fist full of it, but close. Maybe if Stiles lets it grow out for a few more weeks. Danny kind of hopes he does.

Stiles falls quiet after a while, his breath gusting hot over Danny's neck where the collar of his v-neck is stretched and loose, and Danny pulls him minutely closer, enough so their chests press together. The move leaves his arm slung low around Stiles' back, dragging Danny's attention to Stiles' narrow waist and the smooth expanse of skin he got a glimpse of earlier. 

The song changes from something upbeat and thumping to something darker and more sensuous. The crowd seems to have grown since Danny first dragged Stiles into the fray, and with everybody squeezed so close together, it feels more like the prelude to a club-wide orgy than dancing. But Stiles seems fine with it, even goes so far as to wrap his arms in a loose circle around Danny's neck to keep from elbowing their neighbors. It puts his mouth close to Danny's ear, lips sticky-damp against the lobe, and Danny thinks it's imagination, but even Stiles' panting breaths sound happy and pleased. 

Idly, Danny wonders if there's anything that could bring Stiles down. And then, just as quickly, he doesn't want to know.

They ride out the song together, knocking against each other and the people around them, everybody happy (and, in some cases, a little high) enough to not mind having toes stepped on or getting pushed around a little. When another song starts, Danny hears Stiles heave a deep breath, and he turns his head to ask Stiles if he needs a break, but at the same time, Stiles is lifting his face and their lips sort of bump together, Stiles' mouth pressing against the corner of Danny's. 

Stiles' lips are soft, a little tacky, and salty from dried sweat, and Danny feels the vibration of Stiles' startled hum more than he hears it. It's not a kiss by any stretch of the imagination, but it's enough of a tease to make Danny curious. To make Danny turn a little more toward Stiles and part his lips, suck gently on Stiles' upper lip.

There have been times when Danny has given thought to Stiles' mouth. Not often, but sometimes. Usually when Coach is trying to give another one of his asinine pep talks and Stiles sits fidgeting on the bench, often with his mouth open. In those times, Danny's wondered if Stiles' lips were as soft and inviting as they looked. What it would feel like to lick into the slick pink inside and stroke their tongues together.

It is as hot as Danny thought, Stiles' mouth pliant against his own, cautious but eager. And when Danny licks into him, a careful flick of his tongue against Stiles', Stiles makes this sound, a dark groan deep in his chest that resonates in Danny, makes his hand grip tight to the hem of Stiles' shirt and pull him closer.

But, suddenly, Stiles isn't there anymore. Danny's eyes open (when had they closed?!) to find Stiles has put a body's worth of space between them. Danny misses the warmth already, he realizes with a sharp pang, and reaches for Stiles just as Stiles says, "Oh my god."

Stiles looks. . .not scared. Or, thankfully, disgusted. Stiles is shocked, maybe? Surprised? Probably a combination of the two. Danny wasn't expecting his night to take this kind of turn, either, so he can relate.

He steps closer to Stiles, ready to apologize and usher him off the dance floor, but Stiles cuts him off, blurting out, "I need some air" and runs for the door.

Okay, so, maybe a little scared.

Danny keeps his own exit slow, to give Stiles time to catch his breath. On the way out, he catches a glimpse of Alex, looking in the direction that Stiles just fled, and swings back to Danny, smug grin twisting his thin, weasly lips. From behind Alex, closer to the door, Ginger and Donna give Danny an encouraging nod, and he flashes them a small grateful smile in return. 

He finds Stiles in the alley, back to the wall, bent over and bracing himself with his palms on his knees. He's not hyperventilating, but it's a close thing. 

"I'm sorry," Danny says, careful.

"It's. I'm good," Stiles says between panting breaths. "I just need. . ." his voice trails off, but he offers Danny a vague hand gesture, as if that explains everything. 

Danny rests a hand on Stiles' shoulder and crouches down to look Stiles in the eye. "Should I get you some water?"

"No, I'm. It's okay, but." He shrugs off Danny's hand with a subtle twist of his shoulders. "Could you not touch me? Please? Just for a-- for a sec?"

"I'm sorry," Danny says again, taking a step back. He watches Stiles stand up by degrees; head coming up little by little until he's upright, but with his weight mostly on the brick at his back. It's been a while since Danny's seen someone have a gay freakout. He hasn't really missed it.

"This isn't a gay freakout, by the way," Stiles says after several long moments, once his breathing is mostly under control. "Or, a bi freakout, I guess. Whichever."

"So then what is it?" Danny says, arms wrapped tight around his chest. It's not all that cool in the alley, but without the heat of the bodies surrounding him, Danny feels himself trembling anyway. 

Stiles squints up at him and pinches together thumb and forefinger. "A tiny panic attack? I think?"

"A panic attack." Danny's voice sounds about as flat as he feels.

"Not because-- it's not you dude, I swear! And it's really small, miniscule even, I promise! Just, there were a lot of people in there and I--"

"I kissed you," Danny finishes for him.

"Yeah, you did." The way Stiles says it is soft and a little wondering, and one side of his mouth tilts up. All things Danny would take as a good sign if it weren't for how Stiles had a _panic attack_.

"I'm sorry," Danny says again, because he doesn't know what else _to_ say. It's been a long time since he's read the signs this wrong, and he can't seem to get Alex's ugly sneer out of his head. Guilt and shame are not a combination Danny is used to and it sits heavy in his stomach, sour and wrong.

"I liked it," Stiles says after a few beats, his fingers warm where they rest light on Danny's wrist. Danny looks down at them, studies the knobs of Stiles' joints, then back up to Stiles' face, the skin paler now that he's lost his flush from the dance floor. His eyes are still bright, though, the truth of what he says obvious in the way they crinkle at the corners.

Danny's answering smile is slower, smaller, but there, and he takes a half-step closer, pushing into Stiles' hand so his fingers wrap around Danny's forearm for a squeeze before letting go.

"It's just." Stiles takes a deep breath, his shoulders lifting with the movement, and starts pacing back and forth, his bicep brushing Danny's arm with every pass. "Have you ever known one thing to be true? Like, the sky could turn purple and the grass orange, but at the end of the day, you know know yourself and what you are and it's good. It's fine. I can deal with-- with just about anything as long as-- as long as I know that. Y'know?" 

He stops pacing to look at Danny, eyes wide and earnest, like Danny is supposed to understand any of that, but Danny doesn't have a clue. He nods anyway, hoping the thread will wind itself back together eventually. Stiles smiles in return, a quicksilver curve of his lips, and resumes pacing.

"But then somebody comes along and shows you something different. That it doesn't have to be that one way. That the truth you thought you knew might not be true at all." He stops again, facing the end of the alley with his hands on his hips, shoulders rising and falling with his breaths.

"It's okay if you're not gay, Stiles," Danny says carefully, hoping this is the road Stiles is trying to lead him down.

"But I'm _not_ not gay!" Stiles shouts, an explosion of sound and long lean limbs that makes the people waiting in line at the door stop and stare. Stiles gives them an embarrassed little wave then says, quieter, "I mean, that's not the problem." Mirroring Danny's posture by crossing his arms over his chest, Stiles closes most of the distance between them, focuses his dark gaze on Danny's, and says, "You kissed me."

"I'm aware!" Danny snaps back, frustrated and still really damn confused.

"I'm not the guy people kiss, Danny! I'm the guy that pines over Lydia Martin for thirteen ridiculous years, safe in the knowledge that nothing will ever happen with her, because I wouldn't even begin to know what to do with her if it _did_. I'm the sarcastic sidekick! The comic relief! I'm the jo--" Stiles heaves a deep breath and Danny has a sick feeling he knows what Stiles almost said there. 

"I'm just not," Stiles continues. "I'm not the guy that gets the girl. Or- or the guy." He deflates, then, slumping against the building with his hands shoved in his pockets. One elbow swings a short arc back and forth.

Danny watches Stiles tilt his head back, Adam's apple bobbing around a swallow, and he takes a stuttered step forward. Reaches out for Stiles' wrist, but stops an inch short. "You realize that _nobody_ knows what they're doing, right?" Danny says instead, slow and quiet, so he doesn't startle Stiles.

Stiles snorts in response, giving Danny a sideways glance. "Says the one guy in all of Beacon Hills High that has it together."

"Yeah, right," Danny mumbles, looking down at his feet as he shuffles his weight from one foot to the other. There are a lot of things Danny could say to prove Stiles wrong, explain how he's just as scared and clueless as any other hormone-riddled teenager, but decides to go with another truth instead.

"I only approached you at the bar because my ex was cruising you and I wanted to make him jealous." It's a struggle to watch Stiles' face close-off, but Danny figures he deserves to see the hurt he's caused.

Stiles' silence draws out long enough to make Danny's skin crawl. His hoarse, "It's cool," settles like lead in Danny's gut. "Did we give him a good show?"

Danny takes a minute to look around, trying to swallow around the lump in his throat. "I don't really care." His laugh sounds sick and hollow, and Danny's pretty sure that he's never felt worse in his life. Apparently, it's not just Stiles that's having new and awesome revelations about himself.

There's more that Danny wants to say, about how the kiss had nothing to do with Alex, that that was all Stiles, his stupidly gorgeous mouth, and his odd, unique charm, but Danny doesn't know how to say it, and he isn't even sure Stiles wants to hear it. But then Stiles is firming himself up, shoving away from the wall and mumbling something about chemistry, and Danny startles forward, reaching out for Stiles' shoulder.

"That's only why I decided to talk to you," Danny gets out in a rush, before Stiles has even turned around. He looks confused and wary, arms wrapped around himself as a shield.

"What?" Stiles spits out, his lips a thin, flat line, nothing at all like before.

"That's only why I decided to talk to you," Danny says again, making a vague gesture with his hand. "The dancing and the -- the rest of it, that was all me. I..." he bites his lip, gives Stiles a shy, embarrassed grin. "Once we were on the dance floor, I kind of forgot about Alex altogether."

It's hard not to fidget under Stiles' stare, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Danny tries to make himself as open as possible, including the hands that want to curl into fists at his sides. After the space of several long, steady breaths, he can't stand it anymore and blurts out, "Can I touch you?"

It sounds weird, even to himself, and he's fully prepared for Stiles to say no, but he doesn't; gives Danny a small tight nod and drops his arms from his chest. His shoulders are still a tight line, though, and his mouth is pinched shut (which, Danny is pretty sure Stiles is setting some kind of personal record of silence tonight), his entire body screaming 'DON'T TOUCH ME'. 

Danny ignores it.

With his palm light on Stiles' cheek, Danny steps close, waits until Stiles' eyes drops to Danny's mouth, then leans in for a kiss. Stiles' lips give under the pressure, but he is still a long, stiff line all along Danny's front, and gives nothing back in return. Danny should've expected as much, but it still hurts. 

He knows he should walk away now. Cut his losses and let Stiles leave with some of his dignity intact, but Danny's hand seems to have a mind of its own as it slides back to cradle Stiles' skull. Once his thumb is tucked behind Stiles' ear, Danny presses there, rubbing the soft skin until it turns warm under his touch. 

Stiles makes a small sound then, a cross between a sob and a sigh, and tilts forward, hands clutching at Danny's hips, and finally, _finally_ relaxes into a kiss. It's weird and uncoordinated, with Stiles trying to figure out how they're supposed to fit together, but it's good. Better, because it's Stiles making the first move this time.

Patient, Danny loops his free arm around Stiles' waist and pulls him closer, uses his fingertips and light pressure to angle Stiles' head better and deepens the kiss. 

Stiles' seems to bloom slow, with the first touch of Danny's tongue against his lips, mouth parting around a little gasp, and Danny takes advantage of the gap, using tiny flicks to explore the warm wet inside of Stiles' mouth. Stiles is tentative in response, making hot little noises in the back of his throat, but his nails dig into Danny's skin and he presses himself close, and it's good, it's really good. _So_ good. But Danny doesn't want to push it, especially after he sucks a little on Stiles' plush lower lip and Stiles whimpers in return. Danny finds it hard to pull away, and Stiles clinging to him doesn't really help.

"Breathing is good," Danny gasps, resting their foreheads together. Stiles laughs in return, breath gusting hot over Danny's collar bone. He sounds as breathless as Danny feels, with his arms looped around Danny's waist. Danny is surprised to find his free hand somehow made its way down Stiles' back and underneath his shirt to palm soft firm skin. 

It takes Danny a few breaths to gather himself and turn his smile into something less blinding, but once he manages to pull them apart, Stiles has a bright, delighted grin on his face, too. One that makes Danny's stomach swoop, and he can't stop himself from leaning in to nip at the curve of Stiles' bottom lip.

"You okay?" Danny asks, like he doesn't know the answer. His voice sounds weird to his own ears, thick and deep. He kind of likes it.

Stiles' gaze dips from Danny's eyes to his mouth and back again, and he says, "I am-- we are doing that again. _A lot_. That was amazing. I mean, I'm clearly no expert, but I'm pretty sure your mouth is a miracle." His lifts one hand to Danny's face so his thumb can rest at the corner of Danny's mouth. Danny flicks at the pad with his tongue and grins wide at Stiles' surprised laugh.

"Speak for yourself, dude," Danny says, pressing a quick kiss to one upturned corner of Stiles' mouth. 

The quiet easiness of it clearly startles Stiles, making him freeze with one hand hanging in mid-air, but Danny's got this now; takes Stiles hand in his own, slotting their fingers together, and tugs him toward the door of the club. 

"C'mon," Danny says, flirty and coaxing and warm. "Let's dance."


End file.
